


syzygy

by lovelylogans



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Childhood Friends, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Miscommunication, Sharing a Bed, analogicality - Freeform, but like the cute kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:01:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21763387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelylogans/pseuds/lovelylogans
Summary: Patton would say he can’t actually remember a time he didn’t know Logan Foster and Virgil Imní.He’s sure meeting them must have happened—he can’t have known them before he was even born. But it feels like that, some days. It feels like he’s known them for years and years and years. Like they’re a reincarnation of a soul split into three pieces.Or, at the very least, the reincarnation of three best friends. Because that’s what they are: best friends. Even if sometimes he absolutely aches for it to be more, but—but they can’t. So Patton will take friends. He’ll always be their friend. Even if he wants to be more than... just friends.Patton Hart, age 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 to infinity old, like, a hundred years old, thinks that they’re going to be together forever down to his very bones.(the whole “just friends” thing, as it turns out, is a matter up for debate.)
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Comments: 65
Kudos: 233
Collections: Sanders Sides Secret Santa 2019





	syzygy

**Author's Note:**

> this is for the secret santa’s over at @sanderssantas! this fic is for @mydarkstrangeson, who requested any combination of patton, logan, and virgil, and childhood sweethearts, college au, and friends to lovers! i have decided to tackle all of them! this was probably overambitious of me, but i loved, loved, LOVED writing this for you, so! happy holidays!

If he were at all inclined toward analogy (he is not) he would compare his relationship with Patton and Virgil to a syzygy. 

It’s an astronomical term. From the ancient Greek, _suzugos_ , yoked together. Three or more celestial bodies in a gravitational system. Usually in reference to the sun, earth, and moon, with the latter in conjunction or opposition. 

More often than not, they are in conjunction—the same right ascension, the same ecliptic longitude. There is an implication of apparent close approach—their appulse is at its very minimum.

Of course, it is an illusion. They are not _actually_ close to one another, in space. Almost nothing is close to each other, in space. The vastness of space has been confounding humankind for millennia. It will continue to confound. 

That is where the analogy falls apart. He’s sure that Patton or Virgil could come up with better ones. But then, he is not inclined toward analogy. It’s simply a thought exercise. Nothing more.

(If he has, perhaps, spent a few moments thinking of Virgil, dark hair glinting silver in the moonlight, and Patton, freckles grown more intense by the sunlight, turning his curls golden, well. That’s simply a thought exercise too. He supposes that would make him the earth—steady, consistent, predictable. Perhaps a bit dull in comparison. Fitting enough.)

There is also the concept that, in the literal sense, they _are_ often close together. They cycle throughout their rooms—usually, they split the time evenly between Patton’s room, as it is cozy and well-decorated and has plenty of alternatives for sitting that aren’t just the ground, and Logan’s room now that it’s winter, as his room is warmest, but less time now in Virgil’s room, as it’s coldest—and, well. They _have_ been friends for as long as Logan can remember. 

They’re close together now—Patton’s room, currently, as he has the most alternatives to seating and by far the most traditionally “cozy” environment—Logan’s at the desk, and he hears the _clack-clack-clack_ of Patton’s knitting needles and the occasional huffing exhale that means Virgil’s reading something funny online. 

“Logan, the time,” Patton chides softly, and Logan grimaces, only because he’s certain Patton won’t see. 

“I’ll stop when I reach a convenient time.”

“You said that an hour ago,” Virgil points out, voice soft, grumbly, a little lazy—he must be tired, he’d been tossing and turning last night.

(It helps Virgil sleep, as he frequently stays up late fretting, and Patton seems to think that holding him down in some way will prevent him staying up late to study. It probably isn’t normal for three roommates to sleep in the same bed more often than not, but, well. The reasoning is sound.)

“You don’t need to stay up for me,” Logan says, turning slightly in his desk chair to see—Virgil’s lying at the foot of Patton’s bed, head resting on one of Patton’s many throw pillows (he’s probably putting some people on Etsy through college with his frequent pun-pillow purchases, it’s only kind of a problem) as Patton leans against the headboard, rainbow titanium knitting needles paused, for a moment. He’s trying for socks. He has never succeeded. They’ll unravel eventually. It does not stop Patton from trying.

“Yeah, we do, you and Virgil need to debate over who gets middle spoon tonight,” Patton says cheerfully. 

Patton almost always takes, to use the terminology, the big spoon, despite the fact that he is the shortest. However, he does give the best hugs, which makes up for any height deficiencies. Logan has a variety of data to back up the Patton-gives-the-best-hugs claim. There’s a spreadsheet involved.

However, he and Virgil never quite make up their minds when it comes to who takes middle or littlest spoon, and so—

“You can decide, Virgil,” Logan says mildly, turning back to his desk. “I don’t mind which. I don’t mind you going to sleep before me, either. I can go to my room to work.”

“You’ve been working all day today,” Patton says. “Finals don’t mean that you give up on healthy habits.”

“Uh-oh, he’s got that look on his face,” Virgil says, voice teasing. “He’s gonna start rambling about things that are really, blatantly wrong until you rush up and finish and we all start getting ready for bed.”

“...That doesn’t work on me anymore.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” Virgil says. “Patton, wouldn’t you say that sounds like a challenge?”

“I dunno, it sounds like as much of a challenge as recalculating that gyroscope,” Patton says cheerfully.

Logan pauses, curious, before he realizes that’s exactly what he wants and he forces his eyes to focus back on his laptop screen and resumes typing.

“What gyroscope, Patton?”

“Why, [the laser gyroscope](https://www.newsweek.com/behind-curve-netflix-ending-light-experiment-mark-sargent-documentary-movie-1343362) those flat-earthers tried to use in an experiment.”

“I know about this already,” Logan says, still refusing to turn, even though his eye is beginning to twitch at the sheer idea of flat-earthers.

"Mhm,” Patton says. “And, I mean, that gyroscope showed that... um, what’s it called?”

“Shift.”

“Flow.”

“Thrust.”

“Course.”

“Transferral.”

“ _Drift,”_ Logan bites out. “Gyroscopes show a drift when it leans off-axis.”

“Uh- _huh,”_ Patton says, pleased. “But, I mean. They did it _wrong.”_

_Don’t say a word, don’t say a word, don’t say a word..._

“They did that whole light thing, but that proves nothing. I mean, cause, _obviously,”_ Patton says, “They spent about twenty thousand bucks on that gyroscope, but really, all you need to know on how the earth is flat is to just look at the horizon—”

It’s bait. Logan _knows_ it’s bait. And yet—

“The horizon looks flat because the massive size of the Earth _necessitates_ it looks small in proportion to _us,”_ Logan says, striking furiously at his keyboard to finish his sentence and save his word file. “The Earth has an average diameter about eight thousand miles, in an estimate, and we aren’t able to make out the curves because—”

“Got him,” Virgil says, suddenly a lot closer than usual, and double-checking the file is saved before he slams Logan’s laptop shut.

“I wasn’t done with—!”

“Tomorrow is a new day and you can work on it then,” Virgil says, before securing his hands under Logan’s armpits and hauling him to his feet. “C’mon.”

“Bedtime, bedtime, bedtime,” Patton sings, already gathering up his pajamas and dancing his way into his bathroom, closing the door behind him with a click. 

Logan looks longingly at his laptop, before he says, “There’s no point in resuming my work, is there?”

“Nope, we’ll just stop you again,” Virgil says. “He watched that flat-earther documentary two days ago, I’m sure he’s got plenty of material to keep this up.”

Logan sighs. He scoops his laptop into his arms, and he goes back to his room. He plugs in his laptop and his phone and gets ready for bed—pajamas, brushed teeth, washed face. 

He returns to Patton’s room to see Virgil sitting on Patton’s bed, eyes closed as Patton smears some kind of moisturizing... something-or-other on his face, and Logan feels a slightly worrying swell in his chest region—the only reason it isn’t _fully_ worrying is because it’s been doing that when he sees Patton and Virgil together for years.

“...I mean, you really should hydrate more, that’ll help your skin, and it’s winter so _everyone’s_ getting dry skin, ya know?” Patton says, continuing whatever conversation they’d been having, and then his face brightens at the sight of Logan, making grabby hands. “Logan! C’mere, lemme smear goo on your face, I accidentally squeezed out too much.”

Logan sits on the bed, hands Virgil his glasses, and obligingly closes his eyes. There’s the sound of Virgil setting his glasses on the nightstand, and then Patton’s hands are on his face. The lotion—or _goo,_ Logan supposes—smells pleasantly of chamomile. It’s a little cool, but Patton’s hands warm it up soon enough. Patton rubs the lotion into his face in soft, circular motions, humming softly, and the sensation of it, the comfort of it, would be enough to send Logan to sleep. 

“All right, you’re moisturized,” Patton says, and Logan opens his eyes to see Patton smoothing the remnants of the goo into his hands. 

“Middle spoon?” Virgil says.

Logan shrugs. “I don’t have a particularly strong opinion either way.”

“Are we doing the spoon thing tonight?” Patton asks. “There’s a lot of other ways to snuggle.”

“I don’t have a particularly strong opinion either way,” Logan repeats.

“Virgil?”

“Nope.”

“Okay!” Patton says brightly, and flops down on his back, lifting up his arms. “Get in here, we haven’t done the whole Human Pillow thing in a minute.” 

Patton has a variety of ridiculous terms for their body placements at night. It should not be as endearing as it is.

Logan and Virgil meet eyes, as if to roll them at each other, but they’re really just exchanging an _ah, that’s our Patton_ kind of look, and so Logan settles under the covers before he rolls onto his side, placing his head on Patton’s chest, and Virgil shuts off the light. There’s the adjustment of covers that means that Virgil is settling in a mirror position.

And then—

“I love this,” Patton says happily. “It’s like a sleepover!”

“You say that every night,” Virgil says, like every night. 

“And every night it’s true,” Patton says, like every night.

“And every night, we exchange this dialogue,” Logan says, like every night. It’s dark, so no one can see him smiling.

“I mean, we’ve had sleepovers for _forever,”_ Patton says. “Do you remember our first one?”

“Our first one was when we were babies and our moms were all snowed into my house,” Logan says. “According to legend, anyway.”

“Mm, I know,” Patton says. “But, I mean—what’s the first one you _remember?”_

Logan pauses, considering, before he says, “When you drew on your carpet, with crayon.”

“We were _six!”_

“The one where we watched _Barbie and the Twelve Dancing Princesses_ like three times,” Virgil says.

“An underrated movie,” Patton says, and then, smugly, “I think mine’s earlier than yours.”

“Well, if I had more time to _ponder_ it—“ Logan begins.

“What’s yours, Patton?” Virgil says, cutting him off.

“Do you remember when we got married?”

"We got _married?”_ Logan says, mind straining.

“We were little,” Patton says. “ _Really_ little.”

“...I think I do remember that, actually,” Virgil says, sounding a little stunned. “ _Yeah._ Because I was the one who had to decide what we had to do first that day, I hated it when you guys did that.”

(— _Patton and Logan are planning out their day as Virgil sits on the swingset, swinging just a little—not enough that he’s skyborne, just enough so that when he swings, the pole moves from blocking Logan’s face to blocking Patton’s face, so he can only see one of them at a time._

_“It’d be fun!” Patton._

_“It’s non-sense-i-cal.” Logan._

_“It’s pretend, it doesn’t hafta make sense.” Patton._

_“Have to,” Logan, “And it wouldn’t even take that long anyway.”_

_“So we could do it first!” Patton. “And then we could do what you and Virgil wanna do.”_

_Logan. Patton. Logan. Patton._

_“Virgil?” Logan. Virgil drags his heels in the dirt, so that he stops. The pole’s splitting them now—Patton to the right, Logan to the left, both looking at him expectedly._

_Virgil chews his lip. This happens a lot, since he’s the quiet one—he ends up being the one who has to make the decisions. Virgil always feels his stomach twist whenever he has to, because what if he chooses wrong? What if they get mad at him because he’s made the worst choice ever and they stop being friends with him?_

_Virgil swallows, and says, “What’re the choices?”_

_“Oh, we’re gonna get married,” Patton says cheerfully._

_“There’s three of us, we can’t get married,” Logan says pointedly._

_“Which’s why it’s pretend,” Patton says. “I went to my cousin’s wedding last weekend and the ceremony was kinda boring but the after part was really fun ‘cause everyone was dancing and we got to eat really tasty food and there was CAKE and I got to eat three slices and so I wanna get married now—!”_ )

“...I think I do remember that, actually,” Logan says.

“Mm,” Virgil says. “You’re oldest, your memory’s going faster than ours.”

“ _My memory is impeccable,”_ Logan says. "I even remember the flowers Patton had in his bouquet, can you?”

“That’s not fair, you know a ton of scientific flower names,” Virgil says. “That was also, like, the main draw of you participating in the wedding, the fact that you got to talk about a ton of flowers.”

“It was a pretty bouquet,” Patton says. 

“Oxeye daisies, and black-eyed Susans, and honeysuckle, and chicory, and scorpion grass, aaaaand.... lilac, stolen from Mrs. Mariano’s tree.”

“Oh, she would have killed us if we’d been caught, you remember how protective she was over those?” Virgil says. “I can’t believe you talked me into that.”

“We were, like, _four,”_ Patton says. “Or maybe five.”

“I was born with a strong, inherent sense of fear, age knows no bounds when it comes to debilitating anxiety,” Virgil says.

Both Logan and Patton hesitate, for a moment—Virgil joking about his anxiety could sometimes also be a clouded request for help, and it usually took Patton deducing tone and then informing Logan that the tone meant it was a request for help.

However, Patton continues, voice light, “Yeah, but we were young enough then that Logan could corrupt us both, as his extra two months of life—or one month, when it comes to me—was still a major implement in him corrupting us, don’tcha know?”

“Yeah, let’s blame it all on Logan,” Virgil says.

“Yes, that’s the logical course of action,” Logan says. “I’ll remember that the next time you need help on your science assignments.”

“Oh, come on! What’s yours is mine, and that includes your knowledge! Does our marriage mean nothing to you?” Patton teases, and there’s a jump in Logan’s chest. _Our marriage._ Their relationship has been going slowly enough—of course, Virgil’s anxiety is a factor, and Patton is of course willing to accommodate, because he’s kind like that, and Logan’s mostly following their lead—but, well... perhaps this marriage has been brought up for a reason. That’s something people do in relationships, bring up meaningful milestones either shared by other people or related memories. Perhaps this signifies a forward progression. 

Logan enjoys their relationship as is. Patton is open with physical expression like snuggling and cuddling and holding hands, and he gives them both kisses on the cheek every night before they _actually_ sleep. Granted, Virgil is less inclined to physical affection, but he leans against Logan frequently and he expresses his affection in other ways; every playlist on his phone is curated by Virgil, and Virgil always makes his coffee in the morning exactly as he likes it, and new articles about scientific innovations pop up on his phone with some innocuous questions from Virgil that provoke explanations from Logan that Virgil always sits and listens to with an indulgent smile, even if Logan knows that Virgil doesn’t particularly care about quantum jitter or microsatellites or scientists’ brain shrinkage after an extended stay in Antarctica. He just does it so that Logan gets excited and that he will talk about it. They are remarkably good partners. He’d say boyfriends, but they haven’t had that discussion and he doesn’t want to presume.

But, well... perhaps a traditional kiss would be... nice.

“I hardly think our wedding at five, which we primarily had so you could dance and we could split the ding-dongs your mom packed you, was legally binding,” Logan says instead.

“Ah, but it was _emotionally_ binding,” Patton says, and Logan makes a sound of distaste.

“You _loooove_ us,” Patton teases. 

“Ugh.”

“Virgil, you _looooove_ us too.”

“Ugh.”

“Hopeless, the pair of you,” Patton says.

“You have enough love for the pair of us,” Virgil says. “Without you, this marriage would be purely loveless.”

“I feel like I remember in _someone’s_ vows that we promised to be best friends forever,” Patton teases.

( _“—Okay,” Patton says, when they’ve all tramped back to the swingset in Logan’s backyard. “Now we gotta get married.”_

_“How do we do that?” Virgil says. “We say **I do** , right, is that it?”_

_“No!” Patton says and bounces on his toes. “They say these things called vows and people can write their own and a vow is like a promise, so we can just say things that we’ll all do for each other anyway and that way it’ll all be true.”_

_“Even though we aren’t actually getting married,” Logan says._

_“Even though we aren’t actually getting married,” Patton agrees. “Okay, um—” He bites his lip for a second, before holding the bouquet between his arm and his chest, so he can take Logan and Virgil by the hands, so they’re all standing in a circle._

_“You two gotta hold hands too,” he adds, and Logan takes Virgil’s hand. Patton’s hand is warm, and Logan’s is a little cool. Virgil hopes his hands aren’t sweaty or anything, ‘cause that’d be pretty gross._

_“Okay,” Patton says. “Who wants to go first?”_

_There’s a pause, before Logan sighs and says, “I will, I suppose.”_

_Logan’s oldest, so Virgil guesses that makes sense. He usually goes first for a lot of things, which means Virgil will go next._

_Logan pauses for a few seconds to think, before he squeezes their hands, takes a breath, and speaks._

_“I promise to be best friends with you two for forever, even as we get older and real-is-tic-ally make other friends. I promise to at least try playing games that you suggest, even if I don’t like them very much, because you always play the games that I suggest too. I promise teach you everything I know as long as you teach me everything you know, so that between the three of us we know everything that we could know. And,” he adds, “I promise that I will always read to you when you ask me to, even if the books say things that don’t make sense like in that one story about the rabbit and the bear who keep saying they’re the best of beasts and that they can hear and smell all kinds of things and the worm who tells them both to shut up, because none of that can happen since animals cannot talk and—”_

_“ **Wedding** , L,” Patton chides gently._

_“Oh,” Logan says, looking a little embarrassed. “Right. Anyway. I promise to read with you and tell you stories about the stars when we don’t have any books.”_

_“We’re supposed to say **I do** ,” Patton says brightly, and Virgil mumbles it to his feet at the same time Patton says it._

_“Um,” Virgil says, and scuffs his shoe along the dirt. Because Logan’s vows were pretty good and Logan has lots to offer, as a husband, so what can Virgil even say? It’s not like he’s the best reader in the grade who seems like he knows everything. It’s not like he’s the nicest person in the grade, who always helps whenever someone drops anything or gets a scraped knee or gets overwhelmed and seems to always, magically, know just what to do to help. He’s just… he’s just Virgil._

_But he guesses they like **just Virgil** fine enough. He squeezes their hands._

_“I promise to be best friends with you two forever,” he says, because that’s a pretty good place to start, he thinks, even if it’s copying from Logan. “Um. I, I promise to handle the spiders, ‘cause Pat’s scared of ‘em. And I promise that if we ever go to the ocean I won’t make Logan go in or think about everything we don’t know down there, because the ocean kinda freaks me out too. I promise to try and protect you from Drake Wicche, even if he freaks me out because he’s a big bully, ‘cause that’s what friends should do, protect each other. Um. I, uh, I promise to always listen whenever you wanna talk about something. An’ I promise I’ll try and help figure out how to make it better and look at it from all the angles that I can think of, and a few that probably won’t happen, but. Better safe than sorry. So. I’ll—I want to keep you safe. I’ll try my hardest to do that. To protect you. I promise.”_

_“I do,” Logan says, stalwart, and Patton echoes him, much softer, before he clears his throat and squeezes their hands._

_“I love you both very much, and I value you both greatly,” Patton says. “Logan, I love it when you read to us, and when you try playing games, and when you teach us stuff, and when you tie our shoes, and when you wear those ties you really like. Virgil, I love the way you protect us, and when you help us decide what to do, and when you handle the spiders, and when you listen to us talk about stuff, and help us figure out stuff. I love you both very, very much, and I think being stuck with you both forever, well—it’d be a pretty good deal.”_

_A beat, and Patton adds, “And I promise to be best friends with you two forever and ever and ever, as long as we three shall live.”_ )

“Those were _your vows,”_ Virgil says pointedly.

“Huh,” Patton says, and he sounds like he’s smiling. “Guess they were.”

A long pause.

“Sleep?” Patton asks.

“Sleep,” Virgil and Logan agree.

“Good,” Patton says, and, like it’s not even the slightest deviation from routine, leans to peck Logan, and Virgil, and that _alone_ isn’t enough to deviate from routine, except he pecks them on the _lips._

“Night!” He says brightly, as if he did not just _drop their first kiss in the relationship on them out of nowhere._

“ _Um?”_ Virgil says, voice squeaky.

A pause. “Hm?”

“Patton,” Logan says. “You just—kissed us.”

“...yeah?” Patton says, confused. “I... always do?”

“On the mouth,” Virgil says, strangled. “You kissed us. _On the mouth.”_

A horrified pause. “I didn’t.”

“Yes,” Logan says, heart fluttering. “Yes, you did.”

“I _didn’t!”_

“You did!” Virgil says, and he sounds panicked—well, Logan supposes it was a surprise, and Virgil doesn’t like surprises, but this is a _pleasant_ surprise!

“No!” Patton says, and Logan is very suddenly jostled off of Patton’s chest, and Patton turns on the lamp, looking distressed, “No, I didn’t!”

“Yes!” Virgil says, already sitting up, eyes wild, hair sticking up as if he has the same reaction as cats do to being startled. “ _You did!”_

“Can we stop repeating ourselves?” Logan says. 

“ _How are you not freaking out about this?!”_ Virgil demands. “Your boyfriend kissed me!”

At the same time, Logan says, “He’s your boyfriend too?” as Patton yelps, “My _boyfriend?!”_

“I— _wait,”_ Virgil says. “ _My_ boyfriend?”

“Yes?” Logan says, looking between the pair of them. “We have been friends for a great period of time, we selected a college we would all be able to attend together, we have gotten an apartment together, we frequently share a bed, we have a standing engagement for dinner at least weekly, in addition to outings we all have together, and—“

And Logan’s stomach is sinking.

“—and I misinterpreted this, didn’t I?” Logan says. “It—it seemed like the logical progression of our relationship, we—“

“We just— _hang on,”_ Patton says, and shoves his hands through his hair. He always looks strange without his glasses, but his eyes seem huge even without the natural magnification effect. “I— _wait._ Hang on. In the world’s _tiniest_ sentences, can everyone tell me what we think is going here?”

“We’re all romantic partners,” Logan says, still feeling miserable. “I—I apologize if my revealing this has made you uncomfortable, I—“

“We’ll work it out, Lo, just—Virge?”

“I thought you two were dating,” Virgil says.

“Wha— _just_ us?” Logan says.

“Well, _yeah!”_ Virgil says. “You—Patton’s all lovey-dovey with you, and you always give him that _look_ when he’s being particularly Patton, and I thought you two were—monogamous.”

“Virgil, I walked into Patton napping on top of you _this afternoon,”_ Logan says.

“He’s a cuddler!”

“He cuddles _both of us!”_

“He was cuddling me because you weren’t there!”

“He cuddles both of us, because he’s _our boyfriend!”_

 _“I thought we were all single and I was stuck hopelessly pining!”_ Patton wails, before he claps his hand over his mouth. 

“I— _what?”_ Virgil says. “Patton, you could get anyone you _want,_ I mean, you’re—you’re _you.”_

“I concur,” Logan says. “You are a fantastic boyfriend, or, well—“ He feels abruptly foolish, once again, “Or I thought you were.”

“I—okay,” Patton says. “Virgil. When did you think Logan and I started dating?”

“After you two came back from the planetarium and Patton was wearing your coat, during... junior year?”

“Of _high school?”_

 _“Yes,_ of high school,” Virgil grumbles. “You two are all—hand-holdy, and sweet, and I just—”

“Okay,” Patton says. “Logan, when did we all start dating?”

“I—well, I don’t know, really, we just—we all moved into the same apartment, and were all gradually becoming more physical, and we started sleeping in the same bed, I talked to Roman—“

“You talked to _Roman?!”_

“He’s the most qualified person I know to speak about romance,” Logan says defensively. 

“ _Roman_ thinks we’re dating?” Virgil says.

“Well, I suppose I lied to him, because _apparently we’re not!”_ Logan snaps.

“I— _hang on,”_ Patton says. “Okay. Let me get this straight. Virgil. Do you like me?”

Virgil looks panicked.

“Just a yes or no, do you like me like that?” Patton says. “No judgment.”

“I—well...” Virgil squirms. “Yeah.”

“And do you like Logan?”

“...yeah,” Virgil says quietly, looking at his hands.

“Okay. Logan—“

“I believe my stance was made clear,” Logan says.

“And mine,” Patton says, and looks—irritated?

“You said no judgment,” Virgil says, shrinking away.

“ _I could have been dating the pair of you since we were thirteen?!”_ Patton practically shouts. “I’ve missed out on _eight years_ of boyfriendship because none of us can talk about our feelings?!”

“So,” Virgil says. “So you like us?”

“ _Hopelessly pining,_ V,” Patton says. “Of _course_ I like you, oh my goodness, how could I _possibly_ not like you two?”

Virgil’s eyes grow slightly shiny. “Really?”

“Yes, _really,_ of course _really,”_ Patton says. “L?”

“Oh, right, outward validation,” Logan says. “Yes, of course I like you. The both of you.”

Patton squeals, clapping his hands, and cups Logan’s face, pulls him in, and—

And _oh_. Patton’s extensive moisturizing campaign has extended to his lips, his soft, lush, slightly wet lips, his warm, beautiful lips, and Logan’s brain has gone so quiet and so _awed_ and he has been thinking about this for _years,_ years and years, he’s wanted this for years and he’s _getting it_ and it almost feels like it isn’t real and—

They break, and Logan forces himself to not stare at Patton’s lips, but he doesn’t have much of a chance before Patton leans and cups Virgil’s face and—

And watching them is like watching an _eclipse,_ sun and moon overlapping, Patton’s tan hands cupping Virgil’s pale cheeks, which are rapidly becoming rosy with a blush, and Virgil’s jaw flexes as they kiss, and _kiss,_ and how does Logan feel _lightheaded,_ he’s not even the one kissing right now?

They break apart with an appealing noise, and Patton says brightly, “Okay, now you two.”

“I—oh,” Logan says, and turns to Virgil. “I—yes?”

“Yes,” Virgil says, and Logan mimicks Patton’s stance—cupping Virgil’s cheek, and _feeling_ his strong jaw is even more appealing than just staring at it—and he presses his lips against Virgil’s, rough and a little chapped because Virgil chews them so often, but they move just as smoothly as Patton’s do, and _oh,_ there’s the lingering taste of Patton’s strawberry chapstick is lingering on Virgil’s lips, his cinnamon toothpaste, and—and—

Virgil draws back, and Logan blinks, and Patton giggles. 

“Hey, I’m just gonna say, _again,”_ Patton says. “ _Eight. Years._ We could have been doing this for _eight years.”_

“I can’t believe we’ve lived in a loveless marriage since we were four,” Virgil says, and then Logan feels like he’s bursting, and then—

He’s _giggling._

Patton and Virgil exchange a glance, delighted, and Patton leans forward, peppering kisses on Logan’s face, before he turns and does the same thing to Virgil, who flushes and ducks, shoulders hiking, but he has a soft secretive smile, and Logan can’t help but giggle even _more._

“Well, we can’t possibly go to sleep _now,”_ Patton says.

“Yeah,” Virgil says, “What on earth are we gonna do with all this free—“

Virgil’s mouth is suddenly occupied. With Logan’s mouth. Because Logan is kissing him.

Look, he’s not very inclined toward analogy, okay?


End file.
